


Make the Man

by roebling



Category: Big Bang (Band), K-pop
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Shoes, Transvestite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:04:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jiyong buys Seunghyun a pair of shoes. This is more of a problem than it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make the Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slightly more 'free form' story than I usually write. I'm interested in the idea of TOP as gender nonconformist, especially as it relates to his public image/persona. I think I might write more about him in this 'verse. This was inspired by his statement that his favorite part of a woman's body is her feet in high heels or something along those lines. These are the shoes, if you're curious: http://www.net-a-porter.com/product/314165

The package sitting on Seunghyun's kitchen table is wrapped tastefully: matte charcoal paper, slim grosgrain ribbon two shades deeper, a simple black card tucked under the bow. He sets down his travel case, and squeezes his eyes shut tight. It was a long flight home, after endless delays, and he's not sure he's not hallucinating. But he opens his eyes and it's still there: dark paper, crisply folded, just the right size for a pair of shoes.

He knows without looking what's going to be inside.

\-----

They are in a mall. It's not a proper mall -- not like the kind that Seunghyun used to hang out in when he was a teenager, with a food court and harried mothers tugging their children along by the hand. This is a cool marble gallery, two levels, with large stores with famous names set far apart. A fountain plashes beneath a domed atrium, but there are no benches to encourage loitering or any similar pedestrian activities. It's connected directly to the hotel, in fact, so that well-heeled socialites can pick up a little something new without having to sully themselves on the streets.

Seunghyun was awed by these kinds of places, once, but he's not now. He's not really interested in buying anything, honestly, but they have all day free before the concert and Jiyong wanted to come take a look at some gaudy coat at MiuMiu and Seunghyun hadn't anything better to do but come along. It's nice, anyway -- the sales people don't know them, at least not with their glasses on, and they're spared the terrible sycophantic groveling that make shopping in Seoul so very unpleasant.

The coat is exactly Jiyong's style -- lime green mohair, knee-length, with a sleek, mod cut -- but it looks too blatantly feminine on for him to be able to wear it without attracting comment.

The stylists taught them to look out for these things, after they were given reign (and had the money) to buy their own clothing.

"Too bad," he says, petting the sleeve fondly.

"You could have it altered," Seunghyun says.

Jiyong shakes his head. "No," he says. "It's fine. I don't really need it, anyway."

They drift through the silent, perfumed spaces. The Alexander McQueen store is dark: black metal, tinted glass. Jiyong dwells on a rack of printed sweaters. Seunghyun doesn't care for them. He wanders to the back of the store, where the shoes are displayed. There he is badly tempted by a pair of black velvet loafers with skulls printed on the toes.

He doesn't need them. He puts them back on the display.

The women's shoes present a different type of temptation.

Seunghyun likes a beautiful foot in a beautiful high heel. He's not afraid to admit it. He just likes the way the shoe arches, the slimness of a beautiful ankle, the crisp staccato noise they make against the floor.

He like this one pair very much: black leather, with very high heels. The vamp of the shoe is cut out, outlined by straps that curve up and back. The toecap glitters with tiny golden studs.

He runs a finger along the arched heel, and shudders.

"Those are nice," Jiyong says, from somewhere very nearby.

Seunghyun is so startled he nearly drops the shoe.

"Thinking of getting them?"

In a big hurry, he puts it back. "Of course not," he says. "I don't have anyone to get them for, do I?"

"What about your sister?" Jiyong's eyes are half closed, and his expression is cold.

"Don’t be dumb," Seunghyun says in a hurry. "I'm not getting her these." He clears his throat. "What about you?"

Jiyong shakes his head. "They don't have my size."

"Extra small, you mean?" Seunghyun smirks. Teasing Jiyong is comfortable, a good way to regain his footing.

Jiyong jabs him in the side. "Shut up," he says. "Fatty."

It's all in good fun. Seunghyun feigns outrage anyway, and jabs him back.

The saleswoman clears her throat and gives them a black look. They leave before they get kicked out.

\-----

He thinks maybe it's a joke at first. Rather expensive joke -- but Jiyong doesn't care much about money.

It's not funny though. Not at all. Seunghyun stares at the Alexander McQueen heels sitting on his table and he doensn't feel like laughing at all.

He takes out his phone and texts Jiyong. _Thanks ...._

His phone vibrates almost instantly with Jiyong’s reply. _yr welcome!! do u like them? was really hard to find your size_

Seunghyun swallows. He puts his phone down, puts the shoes back in the box, and covers them back up in the cloud of grey tissue paper.

Stupid Jiyong. Really. It isn't funny at all.

\-----

There was that time Jiyong wore high heels -- specifically, he wore cheap black patent pumps with a three inch stiletto heel that one of the noonas had brought in. It wasn't the first time Jiyong had dressed up like a girl, but it was the first time he'd dressed up as a pretty girl, with makeup and a long swishy wig and those shoes.

Afterward, Seunghyun had asked, "How did it feel?"

Jiyong fixed him with a sullen stare. They were all very tired, and it was a long van ride back to Seoul. "What?"

"Dressing up like a girl."

Jiyong shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "Just like dressing up as anything else."

"Hmm," Seunghyun says. "That's it?"

"That's it," Jiyong says, tired and annoyed. He takes his iPod out and puts in his earbuds. Conversation over.

That can't be it, Seunghyun thinks. It just can't be.

\-----

He can’t stop thinking about the shoes.

Hard to find his size, Jiyong had said, and that must have been true enough. Seunghyun doesn’t have especially big feet for a guy, but they don’t make most women’s shoes in size eleven, especially not beautiful shoes like these.

On his hands and knees, he takes the box out from under the bed. It’s a bit dusty under there, but not too bad. Seunghyun used to be kind of sloppy, but he’s a neat freak now. That happens. People change.

Carefully, he takes the shoes out of the box. It's a delicate operation. He lifts the lid gingerly, and folds back the crisp sheets of tissue paper. The shoes rest within, arched and beautiful. He runs his finger along the heel, like he did in the store. Eyes closed, he tries to imagine what it would feel like to wear these shoes.

He can't. The person wearing these shoes is beautiful, and powerful, and confident. He isn't any of those things, even though he's learned how to pretend to be.

He takes off his socks. His feet are long and narrow, with thick toenails and knobby ankles. They're not attractive feet. They don't belong in shoes like these, but he wants to wear them so badly …

It's raining outside, and the patter against the window is loud in his big, silent apartment. Far away and across the river, the city lights look like stars. Things always look different from far away. Up close he knows those lights are just dirty incandescent bulbs hanging in the doorways of squalid little houses.

First the left foot: it catches just a moment and his heart freezes. Maybe his feet are too wide. Maybe Jiyong didn't get the right size. Maybe …

The shoe slips on after a moment of resistance. He flexes his toes. It's odd, and exciting. He thought what would happen is that it wouldn't look like him -- but it does. It's his foot in the Alexander McQueen heel, and it looks good. Very good.

The right shoe goes on easily. He rolls up the legs of his jeans to mid-calf. The dark hair on his legs is incongruous. It would look better if he'd shaved. He swallows. That's going several steps further with this than he expects to go. It's enough for now just to wear the shoes, he tells himself.

He crosses his legs at the knee, admires the line of the heel, the arch, the way the metal studs catch the light.

Slowly, with one hand on the back of the couch for support, he stands. For a moment, he's balanced -- precarious but perfect. His posture is all off. His ass is sticking out and his arms are spread, but he's standing in the shoes.

He takes a tiny step. The illusion of balance is gone. Arms windmilling, he falls backwards and hits his head on the leg of his side table.

\-----

"Geeze, hyung," Little Seunghyun says, eyes wide in mock concern. "How'd you do that?"

Seunghyun narrows his eyes. It's pointless, because he's wearing sunglasses, but it makes him feel a little bit better. There is a bruise the size of an quarter on his temple. "I was drinking. I fell."

Little Seunghyun shakes his head. "You've gotta be careful. The makeup noonas are going to be so pissed."

"I'm careful," Seunghyun protests.

Little Seunghyun grins and laughs. "Sure, hyung," he says amicably.

Then he ducks away, because his phone is ringing.

Jiyong has been watching the exchange from across the room.

"It's not like you to get so drunk you fall down," he says.

Seunghyun shrugs, although what Jiyong says is true. He is known to hold his alcohol well. "I guess I need to find my sea legs," he says.

Jiyong nods, aloof.

Seunghyun feels his cheeks getting hot. Jiyong knows. He must know. He bought the damn shoes, after all. "I think it must get easier with practice."

"Drinking?" Jiyong looks confused, but he's a good actor too, and the confusion could be feigned.

Quickly, Seunghyun says, "No, walking in ..."

"Guys," Manager hyung says, poking his head through the door. "Makeup is going to have an episode if you don't get in there right now."

Seunghyun doesn't find a good time to bring it up again.

\----

"Isn't it hard to walk in those?"

Bom, stylishly mismatched in leggings, a baggy tee shirt, and strappy high heeled sandals, pauses and turns. "Huh?"

"Don't those hurt your feet, noona?"

She looks down at her feet, small and white with dainty, pink toenails. "Not really," she says. "Why'd you ask that?"

Seunghyun shrugs, uncomfortable. "Just seems like it'd hurt or something."

She lifts one foot, stands balanced -- delicate, floating nearly -- for a second. "Not really," she says. "I guess you just get used to it. I don't even think about it."

Seunghyun nods. She smiles at him, indulgent, and waves goodbye. He closes his eyes and listens to the sharp, steady rap of those heels against the hardwood floors, until he hears a door open in the distance, and she goes out, and there is silence and all he can hear is his pulse in his ears.

\-----

With practice, he gets better. It's hard. He watches some videos online that tell him he needs to keep the weight off the balls of his feet, and he needs to keep his pelvis centered, and he needs to ... none of it really makes any sense. What he does, instead, is buy a pair of cheap black pumps (not beautiful, like the pair Jiyong got him, but serviceable -- he doesn't want to risk ruining them) and walking up and down the hallway in his apartment.

At first he wobbles badly, grabbing the walls every few steps to prevent another fall, but he gets better. He stands straighter and moves more confidently. He feels good, even wearing the cheap black shoes. He feels confident and graceful, a hundred times more graceful than he ever has dancing on stage or in a music video. (The early criticism has stayed with him, and he is shy and miserable to this day in dance practice, at least when he's not making it all into a big joke.)

Jeans rolled up to his knees, he walks with confident steps down the hall, turns, back to the other end. He has a tendency to slouch -- Hwangsabu is always on him for his bad posture -- but in these shoes he stands tall with his shoulders back. He can't bring himself to look at himself in the mirror while wearing them. That would ruin the illusion. But he feels good with the pumps on. He feels beautiful.

\-----

"Very good," the choreographer says, nodding happily. "Seunghyun, you've been practicing."

Seunghyun ducks his head. He hasn't been. "No," he says. "I guess some of your advice finally sunk in, hyung."

Daesung, sitting on the floor, grins. "Took long enough."

Jiyong walks up and throws an easy arm around Seunghyun's shoulder. "Well, you know hyung. He's got a pretty thick head." He raps his knuckles on Seunghyun's temple -- just over where the now-faded bruise had been -- and smiles.

\-----

When he's not at home, both pairs of shoes in their boxes are hidden under his bed. There are safer places he could hide them, but not as easily accessible, and it's become his habit, upon returning home for the evening, to take off his Gucci loafers or Lanvin boots and slip on his heels. He wears them while he puts his clothes away, and while he plugs his phone in to charge, and while he putters in the kitchen. They feel so natural now, like part of his body. On the nights he stays out late, in wine bars with friends, or at the studio with the guys, he finds himself missing the way he feels alone in his apartment in those shoes. There, with nobody watching, he feels like he fits inside his skin. The rest of the time, he feels like a round peg that's been shoved into a square hole.

 

\-----

"We should parody _You're Beautiful_ ," Little Seunghyun says. "Jiyong can be the Jang Keun Suk character, Daesung can be the English one, and I'll be the Yonghwa guy."

"Hey!" Youngbae says. "What about me?"

Little Seunghyun rolls his eyes. "You can be the manager, hyung."

"What about the girl, though?" Daesung asks.

Seunghyun clears his throat. "I could do it," he says, and then because he's worried there's an undertone of sincerity in his voice that one of them will pick up on he strikes a ridiculous pose -- hand on hip, lips pursed.

They all laugh. Little daggers pierce his heart. He laughs along with them, though.

"Hey," he says, playfully annoyed. "You don't think I could do it?"

"It's not that, hyung," Daesung says. "You're just so ..."

"What?"

"I just can't picture it," Youngbae says, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Little Seunghyun says, considering. "You can't be the girl, hyung. You've gotta be the Jang Keun Suk guy. Jiyong hyung can be the girl."

"Hey!" Jiyong says. "Why am I always the girl?" He frowns. "There's more than one girl, anyway, idiot. How about remembering their names?"

Little Seunghyun spreads his hands. "I'm bad with names!" he says. "What can I say?"

Jiyong rolls his eyes. "I think hyung would make a fine girl," he says. "He can be that evil UEE one."

Little Seunghyun considers it. "That might work," he says. "But we still need someone to be Go Mi Nam."

"Ah," Daesung says. "Why don't you do it? It was your idea anyway."

Little Seunghyun shakes his head and launches into a long and seemingly preplanned argument about why he shouldn’t be the girl. Seunghyu can’t listen. He hasn’t heard anything at all really since Jiyong said he would make a fine girl. Those words sooth his heart like aloe on sunburn. They feel so good, but they feel scary too, in a way that makes his heart race and struggle against the cage of his ribs.

\-----

Seunghyun enjoys photoshoots, for the most part, although he didn't at first. There are things he doesn't like: being measured and prodded by the stylists, asking for a private room to change in, the very faint but always present voice in the back of his head that tells him he's ugly, fat, so hideous the film's going to burn up inside the camera once his picture is taken, etc. But as time has gone on he's learned to ignore those things, and appreciate the opportunity to dress up, to have his hair and his makeup done. He has license to be pretty, and sometimes he doesn't want anything more than that.

Besides, he's good at getting his picture taken, whatever that means. It's not anything he expected to be good at. All those years ago (not that many, but it seems like another lifetime now) he got into the group because he could rap well. That wasn't by virtue of any particular innate talent. He worked hard, and he practiced. He never counted on his looks for _anything_. He didn't have any looks to count on. He's not sure he does now, either, but photographers are pleased with the results when they shoot him and companies pay him what once seemed like an obscene amount of money to wear their clothes and stare with heavy eyes at the camera.

Sometimes, he wonders if he could do what Hyuksoo does and model for real. He's had offers. He's tall enough and famous enough that having him walk the runway would be a catch for any designer. He's never done it though, and he's not sure he ever will, because as much as he likes dressing up, as exciting as it can be to play Pretty Pretty Prince in the sterile bubble of the studio, he isn't sure he could handle the scrutiny of so many people watching him.

Seunghyun enjoys pretending, but he's never once believed the flattering things those people on the internet say about him.

\-----

They are going to Ireland. After all the long shadows that have fallen on the past year, here, then, is a bit of light. Seunghyun's suitcase is open on his floor, but there's nothing in it. He's packing -- theoretically. In reality he is sitting on his couch wearing dark jeans, a vee-neck sweater, and the McQueen pumps. He lifts his wineglass to take another sip, and realizes its empty. Funny how that happens so fast.

He walks to the kitchen and pours another glass of red. He closes his eyes and breathes in the aroma. On his kitchen counter are a stack of scripts his agent sent. He'd like to do more acting. That is another kind of pretend he finds himself unexpectedly successful at.

The thing is, he's pretending all the time, so maybe his success at it shouldn’t be that surprising.

He's read through a lot of the scripts, and the parts people want him to play make him uneasy. He doesn't know if he can be a romantic lead in a film or drama. He's had girlfriends. He's dated. But he's never been the guy filled with bravado, the one making the girls swoon. There are a lot of things he can pretend to be, but he's not sure he can pretend to be that.

He takes the top script from the stack and flips through it. Yes, he remembers this one. The young female scion of a powerful industrial family is forced to be roommates with a poor orphan from the country who happens to be a mathematical genius -- and in the end, they are long lost sisters. The male lead -- the part they'd like Seunghyun to take -- is one of those upright, handsome, wholesome guys that don't actually exist outside of dramas. He's stoic and smart, and his main flaw seems to be an insistence in participating in college baseball despite an injured wrist.

It's horrible. Horrible. He sighs. So many scripts, and half the parts are like these: wooden people with petty concerns living lives even more unreal than Seunghyun's actual life.

He puts the script down, and then the doorbell rings.

He isn't expecting anyone, and the concierge didn't call up, which means it’s someone he knows. Dongwook hyung? No, he's away performing. His sister? Not likely -- she was going out with some friends.

Frowning, he walks to the foyer and opens the door. Jiyong is standing there. He tilts his head.

"Huh," he says. "You're wearing them."

Seunghyun looks down, realizes what he's done, and his heart freezes.

"Uhhhh ...."

"Now you're even taller than me," Jiyong says, crossly. "That's not fair."

"It's not what it looks like," Seunghyun says, panicky.

Jiyong lifts an eyebrow. "What is it then?"

Seunghyun swallows. "Come inside," he says, grabbing the arm of Jiyong's jacket. "I can explain."

\-----

He can't explain. They sit on his white couch, Seunghyun all the way at one end and Jiyong at the other. Seunghyun stares at his hands and tries to think of what to say. He still hasn't taken off the shoes, but it doesn't feel right with Jiyong here. He's embarrassed now and he doesn't feel good.

Jiyong frowns. "I didn't mean to make you upset," he says. There's a shade of 'responsible leader' in his tone.

"You didn't do anything," Seunghyun says, heavily. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have ..."

"I bought you the damn shoes," Jiyong says. "I don't care what you do with them. I thought maybe you collected them, like the dolls ... but if you want to wear them, I don't care."

Seunghyun frowns. "But it's weird."

Jiyong shrugs. "I've dressed up as a girl a ton of times."

"Yeah," Seunghyun says, "for parodies. As a _joke_." He tries not to sound bitter, but it's hard.

Jiyong looks young, with his floppy dark hair falling in his face and his hands resting limply on his lap. "There are a lot of people who like to wear women's clothes, hyung."

Seunghyun squeezes his eyes shut. "They're not idols," he says. "They're not _us_."

He knows Jiyong won't betray him. He's not going to take pictures and sell them to the press. He's probably never even going to mention this again. But he can't help but feel like he's transgressed. Seunghyun’s done something weird again. His shoulders are hunched, and his spine is curved, and if he could he would curl up into himself so tightly he disappeared.

Then Jiyong says, "They look good on you."

Seunghyun lifts his head. "What?"

Jiyong shrugs again. He's nervous, too, although he does a good job hiding it. Seunghyun can tell from the way he knits his fingers together, sandwiches his hands between his thighs. "They look good on you," he says again. "They make your legs look really long."

Seunghyun swallows. "Oh," he says.

"It's not that different than the shoes you normally wear, is it? Those crystal studded loafers … "

Seunghyun shakes his head. It's completely different, and he can't explain why. "It feels different," he says. His voice is a little shaky.

"Why?" Jiyong asks, curious.

Seunghyun swallows. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, but if he doesn't get this out now he's never going to. "They make me feel pretty," he says, staring at the floor.

Jiyong is silent for a while. Then he puts his hand on Seunghyun's knee. "I always think you're pretty, hyung," he says. "But if wearing high heels makes you feel prettier, it's fine with me."

Seunghyun nods, because he doesn't trust himself to speak. They sit there for a long time, with Jiyong's hand on Seunghyun's knee and some stupid drama playing on the television. The wicked stepmother does something terrible, and everyone cries, tears like little jewels running down their cheeks. Seunghyun feels weird, twisted half into and half out of the real world. The shoes are still on his feet. Jiyong laughs that weird nasal laugh of his just like everything is normal.

"Do you want something to drink?" Seunghyun asks as a commercial comes on.

Jiyong nods. "Just water," he says.

Seunghyun hesitates a moment. His whole body is tense: back, shoulders, thighs. Then he stands and walks into the kitchen, back straight and shoulders spread. The sharp clap of his heels on the tile floor is like applause.

He walks back into the living room with Jiyong’s water. Jiyong takes it with a smile and a murmured thanks. 

He stays for a few more hours. They watch the rest of the show and then they shut the television off and talk about tour, about friends, about the strange absurdity of their lives. 

By the time Jiyong goes, the thrumming of Seunghyun’s heart has subsided into a steady throb -- achey, still, but calm.

When he finishes packing the next morning, his heels go in the bag, at the very bottom under an extra blazer he knows he doesn’t need to bring.


End file.
